


when mitski talked about having a washing machine heart i'm pretty sure this wasn't what she meant

by 015255



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Crossdressing, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/015255/pseuds/015255
Summary: Alex catches Charles doing some laundry.
Relationships: Alexander Albon/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	when mitski talked about having a washing machine heart i'm pretty sure this wasn't what she meant

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one sitting and haven't proofread it at all. disclaimer: this isn't strictly "canon" compliant because my grasp on the passage of time and events is tenuous at best
> 
> warnings for: charles leclerc being a whore, alex being good, and me being horny. oh also there's a metaphor that involves a vague description of a Cruel Thing people do where they fry fish while they're still alive

Alex likes to believe he's a reasonably polite guy. He's pretty good at remembering his manners - he knocks a strong three times, even though the door is slightly ajar, and waits no less than a minute for Charles to answer.

When what he receives is an echoed cry of " _ Go away! _ ", with perhaps a little panic laced through the undeniably Monegasque cadence of the response - well, he never claimed to be perfect.

" _ Charles? _ " Alex calls, stepping into Charles' apartment. It's clean - definitely not of Charles' own doing, of course - and oddly enough, not very decorated, as if everything had been shoved away in an underwear drawer to leave the surfaces clean.

He hears muffled muttering from a room further into the house, and some cursing that instantly makes his suspicions rise.

"Charles, it's me, Alex," he announces, uneasy, because he's never been sure of how to handle Charles. "I was sent to check up on you because I heard you were sick? Are you-"

He's interrupted as he turns the corner to a room with a tiled floor and what he thinks is a metal sink by Charles, surging towards him and pushing him back, hands planted firmly on his chest. "I'm fine," Charles says, as Alex surveys the sleeplessness under his eyes and his flushed cheeks. "You can leave now," he adds.

"Man, you don't look alright," Alex says, ignoring the fact that Charles is being kind of rude, and grips Charles' wrists to stop him from pushing further. "Why are your hands wet?"

Charles levels him a tired look. "It's nothing. Just doing a little cleaning, is all."

" _ Cleaning? _ " Alex asks, caught up in disbelief. "Mate, you don't have to do that - don't you have someone else to do that for you? You need to  _ rest _ is what. Here, let me-" and he walks into the tiled room, ignoring Charles' hisses of protest. 

"Nice laundry," he says after a moment, a little stupidly, because he's pretty sure he understands why Charles looks ready to murder him now. "Is that - a bra?" he asks.

"No, it's a squeaky duck," Charles says. "What does it look like to you?"

"It looks like a - is this Giada's?" Alex asks, almost desperate.

"You know we broke up last week," Charles says slowly. "What are you, a moron? Christ."

"I'm sorry, I just-" Alex starts, and then stops, and then starts again. "So it's - yours."

Watching Charles' expression change is eerie - his face instantly morphs from an expression of hostile indifference to that of sly curiosity, as he steps into Alex's space. "Do you like that?" he asks, and Alex swallows. "The idea of me in those clothes? It's real lace, you know."

Alex wills himself not to move. "You - you're very good looking," he says, by way of response, and Charles smiles for the first time since Alex came in.

"That's not an answer," Charles says, and presses his lips to Alex's, a kiss that makes Alex feel like Charles is siphoning his breath, drawing something out of him he didn't know he had. 

Alex, to his own embarrassment, lets out a little gasp, and Charles immediately stops, drawing back to look him directly in the eye as he presses his hands to Alex's chest again and pushes him to sit in a chair in the corner of the room. It's far from the most ambient place to do -  _ this _ , but he's far too distracted by Charles dropping to his knees, staring Alex directly in the eye as he leans forward.

Charles is good with his - well, his  _ everything _ , and he acts like he knows it, mouthing the sizeable bulge tenting Alex's pants with a fervour akin to a cat lapping at a dish of milk. "Charles, wait-"

Alex watches as Charles stills, nestled between his calves, hands resting on his waistband. "Imagine me in what you just saw," he instructs, and  _ God _ , Alex doesn't need encouragement for his imagination to supply him with images of Charles sprawled out on a bed, disheveled, with painted lips and bra askew. "Did you see the matching underwear?"

"The  _ what _ ," Alex exhales sharply, and Charles smiles again. 

"I look excellent in red," he preens, and promptly unzips Alex's trousers, slipping down his boxers to reveal his half-hard cock. "God, you're big," he says, and presses forward to wrap his lips around the head of Alex's cock and giving it an experimental lick.

"Holy shit," Alex breathes, and Charles slides forward again, slowly taking him in all the way up to the base. The feeling of nudging up against Charles' throat makes him gasp, instinctively reaching forward to thread his fingers through Charles' hair.

The way Charles moans around his cock is infuriatingly hot, sending a tremor of arousal through him, and he tightens his grip in Charles' hair, prompting him to look up as he slowly works his mouth with an unprecedented level of finesse. "Why are you so  _ good _ at this," Alex groans, and Charles doesn't dignify him with an answer, instead swirling his tongue around his tip.

"If you keep going like that, I'm gonna-" Charles manages to interrupt him by leaning forward again to swallow him down, the involuntary flex of the muscles in his throat pushing Alex over the edge.

Charles works him through it, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks every last drop out of Alex's cock. He pulls back, hopelessly seductive, and looks up at Alex, as if searching.

After a moment, he seems to find what he's looking for, wordlessly pulling himself up. "Is this a regular thing?" Alex asks, leaning back as Charles clambers into his lap. "I don't think - I mean. That was excellent, thank you," he corrects himself awkwardly, making Charles pause.

"It was fun," Charles says, carefully in response to the finality of Alex's tone. "What are you doing."

"Talking," Alex says, to Charles' unimpressed stare. "Like I came here for. Man - I don't even know you that well," Alex admits, and he's nervous, because Charles is gorgeously distracting, body arched over his, frozen as if he were carved from ice, slowly melting. "But after that I can sort of tell - and don't take this the wrong way - you're like a fish, y'know?"

" _ Excuse me? _ " Charles retorts and okay, he definitely took that the wrong way.

"No- no, I meant like," Alex fumbles a bit, resting both hands on Charles' shoulders and urging him off his lap, before sliding off the chair to sit face-to-face, cross-legged on the floor of the laundry room. "If you fry a carp alive, it can't feel it like we can, did you know that?" Charles frowns even more. "But it still writhes around in the oil on reflex. You're like that carp - you don't think you can feel it, because you're ready to be devoured, but you're still thrashing about," Alex looks away, embarrassed. "Sorry, that metaphor was kind of confusing."

"That sounds cruel to the fish," Charles says, narrowing his eyes.

"I know," Alex responds. "That's the point?"

"You think I need help," Charles says, flatly. "I just sucked your dick and you're lecturing me."

Alex flushes. "I don't mean to - I'm sorry," he apologises. "God, this is the weirdest conversation I've ever had," he mumbles.

"It's not the weirdest I've had," Charles says drily.

"I'm sure it's not," Alex assures him. "I mean, I just came here to check up on you because the others sent me, and you look exhausted,  _ and _ you just sucked me off even though I barely talk to you."

"Don't shame me," Charles says. "Just don't tell anyone about the lingerie. You have to clean it by hand, you know," he shrugs. "No stains."

"Man, you could have just  _ asked _ me to keep it a secret," Alex says. "This is why I'm kind of worried. Don't you see that?"

"No," says Charles, standing up and pulling Alex with him. "Because there's nothing to worry about. I'm just tired," he says.

"You're not very convincing, Charles," Alex informs him, as blunt as possible, because he figures that being soft on Charles be about as effective as gently reprimanding a wolf for snarling.

"What is there to convince?" Charles challenges him, and then deflates a little. "I'm tired," he repeats. "You know where the door is, since you let yourself in."

"Charles-"

"Thank you for coming by, Alex," Charles cuts in. "Tell Max I said hi."

Alex watches, helpless, as Charles stalks out of the room, leaving him standing alone with the quiet rhythm of a tap dripping water into a metal sink.

**Author's Note:**

> charles forgot about his lingerie smh


End file.
